


Sacred & Profane

by ghostboi



Series: Graveyard Digger, Coffin Case Sinner [25]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark Dean, Dean Winchester is Obsessed with Sam Winchester, Dean loves his Sammy, Implied non-con very very briefly mentioned by OC, M/M, Minor Character Death, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam has all the patience, Serial Killer Dean Winchester, Stupid Arguments, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24764989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostboi/pseuds/ghostboi
Summary: He struggled to keep a rein on the anger and jealousy that coursed through him sometimes, when others looked at Sam in ways that Dean didn’t like. When they spoke to him like they wanted to know him just a little better, in ways that were more sinful than saint.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Graveyard Digger, Coffin Case Sinner [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/320444
Comments: 5
Kudos: 151





	Sacred & Profane

It was a stupid little argument. 

Sam knew Dean couldn’t help how he felt. He struggled to keep a rein on the anger and jealousy that coursed through him sometimes, when others looked at Sam in ways that Dean didn’t like. When they spoke to him like they wanted to know him just a little better, in ways that were more sinful than saint. He knew it drove Dean into possessive rages, that it was all part of that darkness that lived inside his brother. Sometimes the elder Winchester _couldn’t_ rein those feelings in, and they slipped out in scowls or harsh words, or the threat of his blade (but not toward Sam, never Sam). 

Sam knew that, but it was still a stupid argument.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” the nineteen year old brushed a hand through his hair in frustration, eyes locked on his big brother, “You know you’re the only one I want, Dean.” 

Dean scowled but said nothing, his eyes on his task.

Sam huffed another breath, “Do you doubt that? Do you think I’m lying?”

“No,” green eyes flicked to him then, “No! I don’t doubt you, Sam. At all. Just -” He frowned again, shifting his gaze back to the knots he was tying.

“Just what?” 

“Just drives me fuckin nuts when people put their hands on you, Sammy,” eyes on him again, “You know what it does to me.”

“Well why are you mad at me for it?” Sam stepped over the pair of legs Dean was currently knotting together, “I didn’t encourage it, damnit, I told him to fuck off.”

“I know that,” Dean muttered, finishing his knot. He stood then and moved to Sam, “I know that, Sam.” His hands fell to his brother’s hips and he pulled him closer, “I’m not mad at you. ‘M sorry I’m an ass sometimes.”

Sam rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that touched his mouth as Dean’s lips brushed his cheek and his brother murmured, “Just get all fucked up when other people touch you.”

“You’re stupid,” he muttered, tilting his head a bit as Dean’s tongue trailed up the side of his neck.

“Stupid in love.” 

He could feel Dean’s grin against his skin, and he laughed softly and pressed his mouth to the other man’s.

When they parted, Dean raised a hand to brush a knuckle against his cheek. “Gonna finish this and then we can get out of here.” Sam nodded and pressed a kiss against his knuckles, before moving back to give him some space. He leaned back against a tree, eyes flicking to the tree branches swaying in the wind over their heads.

They shifted back to Dean as his brother moved to stand over the man who was gagged and tied on the ground. His brother pulled his Bowie from its sheath and knelt; the man on the ground made a muffled sound of fear and wriggled in his binds.

“Should have listened when my brother told you to fuck off,” Dean grasped a handful of the man’s hair, pulled his head back to expose his throat, “Grabbing someone’s ass when they’ve already told you to get lost is a douche move, douchebag. Bet you do that to everyone who tells you no, don’t you?”

The man’s words and accompanying leer back at the bar (“ _I like ‘em when they fight”),_ when the pretty bartender told him to get lost, had been a strong indication that Dean was correct. His hands on Sam a bit later had cemented it.

“Look at you now, asshole.”

If the sounds the man was making were an apology, it was hard to tell. Dean stared at him for a moment, unimpressed. Seconds later, he was sliding his blade across the man’s throat, pressing down as he did. 

Sam watched as his brother wiped his blade clean on the bound man’s shirt, then stood. The other stepped back to avoid the blood pooling already on the ground, then turned and crossed to him.

Before he could speak, Dean had him in his arms, their mouths locked in a kiss that threatened to sear him from the inside out. When they parted (much too soon, Sam decided), the older man whispered against his lips, “Mine. Love you so fuckin much, Sam.”

“I love you too. So possessive,” he shook his head, a smile touching his mouth, “What am I going to do with you, Dean?”

“Let’s get back to the car,” his brother smirked, hand on his lower back to guide him toward the Impala, “I have a few suggestions.”


End file.
